Draining Toxins
by AShipperWithNoLife
Summary: France loves to eat, especially if the food happens to be his own cuisine. However, he is concerned for his appearance, and whether or not he is worthy of his boyfriend, America. Sometimes, France feels as if he has no control over his imperfections, but he still tries to fix that.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, this wouldn't be a fanfiction. Also, this story contains some triggering content, such as an eating disorder and depression. I'm not trying to be offensive to anyone with/ or have had these problems, so if I do give off a bad vibe, or put anyone into a relapse, I apologize. Also, I rated this fanfiction T, because some of the scenes may be a bit graphic, and there are definitely going to be hints of sexual themes.**

 **You can review if you'd like, and it would be very much appreciated.**

* * *

France gazed into the mirror in order to observe his own figure, and was disappointed in what he saw. There was nothing he could love about his body, not with the rolls of fat overshadowing what beauty he could possess. It was a vile sight. An image that France just wanted to forget, but there was no way it would ever leave him, for his recent obsession had already etched the sight into the depths of his mind. The image he despised the most that would always taunt him at every waking moment. Taunt him for his imperfections, taunt him for how worthless he was, but more importantly, taunt him for the fact that it would never be forgotten. His boyfriend, America, would always compliment the feminine, yet masculine form he interpreted from France, but the older nation thought otherwise of the 'sweet nothings'.

Sometimes, France would wonder why America even bothered being his boyfriend. Why anyone would bother acting benevolent towards him. He was sick of their pity; sick of watching the other nations go through the trouble of concealing the ugly truth. _I deserve ridicule,_ France thought as he continued to pinch at the fat on his stomach, _maybe the insults would motivate me to stay in control._ Well, he couldn't say that the other nations never insulted him. The fact that some nations thought of him as a pervert, or a weakling still hurt, but it was nothing compared the agony feeling fat gave him. There was not a single nation that ever called him fat, and yet he still did not cease to think he was.

His stomach continued to lurch, feeling violated by the food he had just eaten. As much as the French cuisine hurt his stomach, France couldn't help but resist it. The food was delicious, and it's aroma could mesmerise almost anyone into binging at their stomach's delight. This was the one thing France could absolutely not stand; it was the fact that the only talent he was proud of also had an aftermath that did nothing more than add extra pounds. _Why can't I even manipulate my own personality?_ France thought angrily, not even acknowledging the tears that slid down his face, _Why do I always have to be such an idiot? How come I can never control my sexual urges?_ Silent tears continued to drop onto the floor when he concluded his thoughts, _How come I can't control my urge to eat?_

Once France finished mentally scolding himself, he walked over to the shower, and turned on the faucet in order to drown out any sound. Then he kneeled down in front of the toilet seat, and pulled his hair back with one hand. Anxiety began to prickle within his stomach, but France reassured himself, "I'll feel better once these toxins are out of me. When I become thin and handsome."

Once that was said, France shoved his fingers down his throat, and kept them there until vomit began to pour out of his mouth. The process continued, and when he was not in the process of vomiting, he would always whisper to himself, "This is for Amerique. I'm improving myself for Amerique."

By the time his stomach was empty, France flushed the toilet, and cleaned up the vomit from his hands. Then he turned off the shower faucet, and brushed his teeth in order to rid himself of the foul scent of bile. When he was finished making himself more presentable, he left the bathroom, and headed down to the living room where America was watching the newest episode of Supernatural. With a fake smile plastered on his face, France sat down next to America, and wrapped an arm around him. America returned the affection by snuggling against him, and asked, "What took you so long?"

"It was nothing cheri," France answered, still maintaining the smile, "I was just distracted by something."

"Oh," was all America said, before adding, "For a moment I thought you were in some sort of trouble, and that I would have to save you. Being the hero and all."

France laughed at this, and stated, "Your heroics never get old."

America blushed at the compliment, and replied, "You know, I could never get sick of your personality either."

 _Lies._ Was all France could think in response to the admiration as he continued to go along with America's affection. Unfortunately, he was forced to keep up with the task when the younger nation continued to go on with the compliments while running his fingers through France's hair, "Also, I usually don't like it when boys have long hair, but damn! On you it's the hottest thing ever! Seriously, it's just so silky and so shiny and…."

As America continued to ramble on, France felt a nervous tremor tickle his spine. He tried to grab his boyfriend's attention, "Amerique-"

"Don't even get me started on your flawless-"

"Amerique!"

When America stopped talking, France continued, "Why don't we just watch the émission de télévision, okay?"

At this, America rested his head on the older nation's shoulder, and continued to watch the show. Meanwhile, France gazed at the youth next to him. _He's too beautiful for me,_ France thought, fighting back tears, _I'm sure he would've been happier with a nation who is more attractive. One that's not a fat, perverted idiot like me._ When America's eyes became more droopy from the warmth, France continued on with his depressing cogitation, _I think he's only dating me out of pity. He's just so generous, and his charity is something I don't deserve._


	2. Chapter 2

There were now a few rules that France had set for himself when he began his new diet. First of all, he was to resist any foods that would trigger a binging episode. Secondly, he had to exercise for at least one hour everyday. The third rule was that he would have to drink a cup of water before and after every meal. Then there was the final rule. The one rule that he loathed the most, but also thought was the most vital for his diet. If France was to ever eat more food than he initially planned to, he was to throw it up as soon as possible. His goal was to lose twenty five pounds in three months. It wouldn't be easy, but France was determined to overcome the challenge. He'd do anything to rid himself of the extra fat.

After eating two small apples for breakfast, France walked into the basement, and entered the exercise room where America kept all of his exercise equipment (of course, he had America's permission to use it). Taking a moment to think over what equipment he'd use, France decided that he would start with the treadmill. It did take him a few moments to figure out how to turn it on and what not, since he was not familiar with exercise machines, but once he had a better understanding of how the treadmill worked, he warmed his legs up by jogging six miles per hour for five minutes. When he was finished with the warm up, France decided to do a few stretches before starting some a more intense exercise.

This time, when he returned to the treadmill after doing some stretches, France turned the speed to eight miles per hour. After approximately ten minutes of maintaining this speed, France decided that he wasn't running fast enough to burn any calories, so he set the treadmill to nine miles per hour. Ten more minutes passed by, and once more, he turned up the speed on the treadmill to be one mile faster. Fifteen minutes later, France felt as if he couldn't keep up with sprinting ten miles per hour any longer, so he turned the speed down to a simple six miles per hour jog until his one hour of exercise was finally up. When France stepped down from the excise machine, his legs began to shake as the world around him became unstable. He chugged down an entire bottle of water, in hopes that quenching his thirst would remove the dizzy feeling that continued to cloud his mind.

When the fatigue ceased to go away, France decided to head upstairs, into the living room, and lay down on the couch. It was obvious that America was not awake yet, since there was no noise to be heard from the bathroom or kitchen. He read the clock on the wall near the stairs to the second floor of the house, and found that it was only six forty-seven in the morning. France sighed in relief, deciding that at whatever time he had woken up at to start exercising without America knowing it would be perfect. As more sunlight continued to leak into the room, France was finding it more and more challenging to keep his eyes open, until finally, he gave into a deep sleep.

* * *

France entered the conference room, assuming that it was empty. However, this time when he walked into the room, a spark of anxiety was grabbing France's attention. This was certainly strange. Usually his attention for the meeting was almost non existent, do to his lack of interest. It was almost as if he could foresee a tragedy that was going to happen very soon. Yet, France ignored the feeling, and continued to walk towards the table of the conference room. Suddenly, he froze. Seeing the one thing that made him wish he didn't even bother waking up that morning.

America and England stood there before him. The two of them were kissing passionately, all while allowing their hands to explore the other's body as they pleased, and the moaning remained persistent, teasing France's already shattered heart. By the time England and America ended the kiss, all France could let out was, "Amerique…why?"

"Why not?" America retorted, a smirk present on his face, "Arthur's so much better than you. He can eat whatever he wants and still stay thin, and he's more charming than you'll ever be. How could you ever compare, _fat ass_!"

Tears formed in France's eyes as he turned away from America, and began to flee from the room. However, he was stopped at the doorway when he ran into a figure that was slightly taller than him. France looked at the nation's face to find that it was Canada. The Canadian examined him with false concern before finally asking, "What's wrong?"

France turned his head away from Canada, "I don't want to talk about it."

Suddenly, a smirk was present on Canada's face as he sneered, "It's about time America cheated on you, worthless piece of shit!"

"W-what?" France questioned, bewildered by the fact that Canada actually _insulted_ him, "You too!?"

"Look at how unawesome France is being," Prussia announced, "He doesn't even know his own place!"

France frantically glanced around in hopes of finding a way to escape the other nations, but found that he was completely blocked as everyone continued to surround him. Even when he was curled in the corner of the room, they continued to hurl insults at him.

"You're getting fatter by the second, can't you see that?"

"What a hideous creature you are! How do you even live with a face like that!?"

"Stop eating! You're only making yourself fatter when you could be feeding someone who's starving!"

"You really need to lose some weight!"

As France continued to sob into his legs and replied with a muffled wail, "I'm trying!"

"Try harder! You're not making any progress!"

"You can't even control your own weight!? You're the worst excuse of a nation I've ever seen!"

France flinched and let out a yelp when he felt someone touch his shoulder, and say, "France! France! Wake up!"

France's eyes shot open, and he began to frantically look around him. When he realized that he was still in America's house he concluded, _Oh, it was just a dream._ It was when he felt his tears being wiped away that he realized he was still crying and breathing heavily. Then the same hands gently tilted his head so that he could make eye contact with their owner, and found that the person comforting him was America. Fresh tears developed in his eyes as France continued to think of his nightmare. America sighed, and asked, "Bad dream?"

France only nodded, and America continued, "Maybe you're just hungry, would you like some-"

"NO!" France screeched, causing America to stare at him with shock. Averting his eyes away from the younger nation, he explained with his voice shaking from guilt, "S-sorry, I'm just not feeling well right now."

"It's okay," America assured, and then asked, "Can I at least give you a glass of water?"

"O-of course"

America left the room for a moment, only to returned with the promised glass of water. France grabbed the glass with a shaky hand, and proceeded in taking swigs of ice cold water until it was empty. America removed the empty glass and set it down on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch next to France. Then America position the older nation so that he was sitting on his lap, and embraced him while he soothed, "Don't worry, I'll stay here until you feel better."

France allowed his head to rest on America's shoulder as he said in a quiet voice, "M-merci…."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So I was rereading the first two chapters of this story a few times, and I couldn't help but notice that France was measuring his speed by miles per hour instead of kilometers per hour. Whoops! Well, at least that plot hole will be somewhat explained in this chapter. Also, I'll try to update this story more often.**

* * *

A week had passed since France began his rather cruel diet. After taking a shower, and drying off his hair, he decided that it was time to check his progress. First, he did so by examining himself in the mirror. When he lifted up his shirt up to check out his stomach, he began to pinch at what fat he had out of irritation as he thought, _Did I just not lose any weight so far? Actually, I think I became fatter! What's wrong with me?_ France then stepped onto the scale. Of course, he was aware of the fact that the scale would be in pounds, since he was at America's house, but France still made sure that he had a basic understanding on how to convert pounds to kilograms, so that he could simply calculate the conversion in his head for a few moments instead of looking it up.

He felt his heart drop when he read the number one-hundred fifty-four. _What!?_ he thought, feeling his throat tighten, _I've only lost two pounds!? That's not even one kilogram!_ France continued to gaze at the scale with a horrified expression as the words from the nightmare he dreamed of only a week ago began to echo in his mind, ' _You're not making any progress!' 'You can't even control your own weight!?' 'Stop eating!'_

"They're right," France whispered to himself, "I should stop eating, but how am I supposed to resist food entirely? Most of it just tastes so good. If only it didn't make me fat…"

France continued to silently brainstorm, and when an idea finally came to him, he mumbled to himself, "Well, if it only takes about one month to break a terrible habit, then I guess I'm just going to have to resist food as much as I can. Until it no longer triggers me into fits of binging."

After a few moments of staring at the now blank screen of the scale in silence, France finally began to head off downstairs, and into the living room. Since America was awake and preparing some breakfast, France decided that it would not be safe to exercise. He'd already exercised before the shower anyways, so France figured that he would still need to rest for at least an hour before continuing on with his daily workout. _I just wish my stupid body would adapt to the exercise already,_ France thought angrily, _sprinting for an entire hour shouldn't even wear me out after doing so for a week. There's no way I'll ever be skinny with how lazy I am!_

France continued to stare at the wall, inundated by the thoughts of self hatred until at last, America entered the room, bringing with him the elated ambience that never ceased to follow him for one second. It was as if the aura was a companion of his, one that would never flubber it's loyalty, nor would the aura even acknowledge when it had just interrupted the tensions of an angsty atmosphere. There was always an innocents to America's ever so cheery attitude, and because of this, France did not mind when his depressing introspections were discontinued by his boyfriend's presence. When France's attention was averted to the rapturous nation in front of him, America explained, "Good morning France, I've just made some breakfast. If you want any."

"No thanks," France answered, allowing a small smile onto his countenance, "I've already eaten."

At this, America frowned, "How come you don't eat with me anymore?"

"I still eat with you, Amerique."

"Not really," France couldn't help but mentally cringe with penitence when he witnessed a pinch of hurt darken America's bright blue eyes, "It's starting to feel like you're trying to avoid me."

France turned his gaze from America. He knew perfectly well that he was isolating himself from the young nation on purpose, _But can't he see that it's for the best?_ France mentally questioned, _There's no way he'd let me continue losing weight if he found out I was making myself sick. Even if I am doing it for him. He just doesn't understand._ With a sigh, France tried to explain, "Okay, so maybe I have been acting too bitter lately, but perhaps I could at least try to make it up to you?"

"Then why don't we have a date? We could just make a bunch of food, and have a special dinner right here at home." Then America added with a plea, "Maybe you could even make some of those delicious macaroons?"

Of course, France was not too fond of the idea, but he decided to go along with it anyways, "I'm sure that'd be fun."

France had to stifle a fit of gagging that threatened to erupt from his throat, just from the thought of preparing a desert. As waves of nausea continued to deride his stomach, he thought, _Why is it that almost every date involves food?_

* * *

Temptation continued to taunt France as he stared at the food before him. Up until now, he hadn't bothered to eat anything, which only made the situation worse. The scene was just becoming awkward to America. After all, he'd already eaten half of his second plate of food, while France continued to show no signs of even touching a morsel. Eventually, America decided that he would have no more of this. Setting down a half eaten hamburger, he asked France, "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

France looked away from the food in front of him, and stated, "I guess I'm not feeling that hungry right now."

America narrowed his eyes with suspicion, not even bothering to conceal the disapproval in his voice, "I haven't seen you eat anything today, so don't tell me you're not hungry."

"Amerique," France tried to reason desperately, "I feel too sick to eat right now, and the pungent scent of food isn't helping."

"Well, isn't that funny?" America stated, giving France a glare of skepticism, "You look as healthy as a horse, despite the nervous expression on your face. It almost feels as if you're lying to me."

When France didn't answer, America's expression softened as he admitted, "France, you're starting to worry me. How come you're not eating?"

France lowered his head in order to hide the tears forming in his eyes. America sighed, "Do you think you could at least try to eat a little bit of your meal?"

 _I guess I have no choice._ France decided, as he picked up one of the macaroons, and began to nibble on it. As time passed by, the nibbles grew larger, and the saccharine taste only made the emptiness in France's stomach become unbearable. Macaroons began to rapidly disappear, and before he knew it, he'd already eaten two plate fulls of food. The craving had even caused him to eat one of America's hamburgers, which like England's cooking, was one food he usually wouldn't dare to touch. By the time the two nations were finished eating, America walked over to France, and planted a light kiss on his forehead and stated, "I'm going to be doing something in the garage now. I'll probably be back in an hour or two."

Even though it felt as if there was a block of lead weighing down his stomach, France still smiled at affection America provided him, and replied, "Okay cheri."

When America finally made his way the the garage, after making some rather alluring promises, France headed off for the bathroom in a frenzy. He made sure to lock the door and turn on the faucet of the shower, in case America decided to enter the house sooner than he initially expected. Kneeling down in front of the toilet so that it would be easier to keep the vomit from splattering all over the floor, France shoved his fingers down his throat, and watched as the stomach acid and chunks of undigested food plopped into the water with a tiny splash. Of course, the whole process of vomiting made his throat sore, but the waves of relief that comforted his stomach was rewarding enough to make the procedure worth it.

By the time his stomach was finally emptied of the 'toxins', France made sure to clean up whatever mess he made so that there was no evidence of his purging. _I shouldn't have eaten so much food,_ France thought with regret, _but it's out of me now, so does that still mean I technically didn't eat anything today?_ France glanced at the mirror for a moment _,_ and decided, _I'm still not eating anything tomorrow._

* * *

 **4/18/16: For those of you who are still checking on this, read my profile for an explanation as to why this hasn't been updated recently.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Again, I would like to apologize for not updating this story in such a long time. Please try to understand people, that I had a lot on my mind at the time, and was unable to focus on writing multiple stories at once. I WILL (and this time, I mean it) definitely be able to update this story way more often now.**

* * *

Three weeks have passed since America and France had that date and so far, France managed to rid his body of seven pounds. Therefore, making his current weight be one-hundred forty-seven pounds. Of course, many individuals would've been satisfied with that weight, considering how tall he was. However, France was unable to bring himself to feel any pride for his progress, feeling as if he still needed to lose seventeen pounds in order to be thin enough. In fact, his initial goal was to only be under one hundred fifty pounds, but seeing as he still considered himself to be rather pudgy, France knew that he was going to have to lose more in order to satisfy his rapidly increasing standards.

After spending approximately fifteen miserable minutes pinching at the thin layer of fat on his stomach while glaring at his own very much despised reflection, France finally decided to slide his shirt back down, and leave the bathroom in order to find something to do that would hopefully take his mind off of his hateful thoughts. There really was no point for him to dwell on his weight any longer, since he'd already purged until nothing would come out of his stomach, and he was much too exhausted to do any more exercises that night. Besides, he'd already come up with more plans that he hoped would help him lose weight at a quicker rate. Yet as time continued to pass by during his diet, focusing on anything other than how fat he thought he was had become a near impossible task, so really, he wondered why he was even bothering to try and distract himself from his negative thoughts, since more things in his life have become triggers anyways.

France walked into the living room where America happened to be sitting on the couch, his full attention directed towards the television as he played a video game. His eyes remaining unblinking as if as if he was some predator stalking his prey; possibly believing that if he had his eyes closed from even a fraction of a second, his kill would disappear. Perhaps his boyfriend would be able to distract him from his thoughts. At first, France had become fond of that idea, but immediately changed his mind when a thought came to him, _He obviously doesn't want to spend time with you right now!_ Then he decided to just give up on trying to ignore what was currently eating at him, and headed off into the kitchen. When he entered the said room, he decided to sit down at the table and stare at the floor. He was certainly grateful for the fact that he wasn't hungry, but instead his stomach ached and his throat was so sore to the point that even the very thought of eating food made him cringe. At least something was actually physically stopping him from binging for once, much to his relief.

Really at that moment, France just wanted to fall asleep, but instead, he was forcing himself to keep his composure so that he would not break down as more thoughts of self hatred continued to attack his diminishing confidence. As much as he just wanted to cry, he didn't want to risk the chances of America seeing him with a tear stained face. If only he could just silence his thoughts so that he would be able to curl up in bed, and fall asleep. In a way, he was sort of starting to feel equivalent to a sick dog in the gutters. Almost as if he'd caught some terrible sickness, and he was in the process of slowly drowning in some strange liquid that filled his lungs as a side effect. As it was already hard enough for him to breath this way, a mocking force would sometimes apply pressure to his lungs, and all he could do was watch as everyone else around him would bask in their endless amounts of air. Yet, the suffocation was never enough to drag him into an dreamless, eternal slumber, but instead would sometimes make him panic when he thought that he wasn't breathing.

Then, out of know where, a somewhat loud voice caused France to nearly jump out of his seat, "Aw France, you look so lonely over there."

Before France had the chance to respond, America enveloped him into his arms and asked, "I'm getting tired. Why don't you come cuddle with me?"

France turned his head away from America, "Maybe I will later."

America's bright smile immediately faltered at this response, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing Amerique, I was just thinking about something, that's all."

Maybe America wasn't necessarily the best at reading the atmosphere, but he could tell that whatever France was thinking about was putting him on the verge of tears. He tilted France's head so that he could make eye contact with him, and stated, "You know you can tell me if something's bothering you, France."

 _But if I told you what was going on, you'd try to stop me._ Was what France was tempted to say, but instead decided on saying something less straight forward, "Well, it's resolved now."

Of course, America still knew perfectly well that France was not over his internal conflict, but instead of trying to pressure France into elaborating what was going on, he gave him a soft smile and said, "Come on France, you look exhausted. Just go to sleep now, okay?"

France nodded in order to show his obedience, knowing perfectly well that if he continued to refuse America's company, the younger nation would start to become even more suspicious than he already was. The last thing France wanted was to receive pity that he believed he didn't even deserve. He already felt guilty for the fact that America was always going through the trouble of trying to make sure he was doing well.

Then, out of no where, America just lifted France up into his arms. The speed in which he did so caused France to give out a small cry of shock, which of course, was the reaction that would always make the nation holding start to laugh. Usually, France would chide America for being so rough with him, but at that moment, he was much too tired and upset with himself to really care much.

As soon as they entered the bedroom, America gently set France down on the bed and removed his glasses to set them on the night stand. Then, he crawled under the covers next to France, and turned off the light before enveloping his beloved into his arms once more. After shifting around some more so that he was in a comfortable position, America planted a light kiss on France's silky hair before saying in a voice just above a whisper, "G'night, France."

"Bonne nuit," France whispered, as he snuggled closer to America, "Je t'aime."

Unfortunately for France, he was still not over his internal conflict, and as soon as he believed that America had fallen into a deep slumber, he began to sob silently into the young nation's chest. Even when his shirt became soaked with France's tears, he still didn't seem to budge. Eventually, France had managed to cry himself to sleep, completely unaware of the fact that maybe, just maybe, America had actually been awake the whole time.


	5. Chapter 5

France found himself standing in the middle of a crowded room, currently unable to navigate through the sea of people in order to find out what was going on. For all he knew, everyone was having fun, so it was safe to assume that he was at a social gathering of some sort. Of course, due to his current state of mind, France wanted to avoid being around others, since he was paranoid of the fact that they may try to interfere with his diet plans. However, as uncomfortable as being around others was beginning to make him feel, France knew perfectly well that because of his reputation of being a rather social individual, he was going to have to put up an act to make it seem as if he was enjoying himself.

Time continued to drag on as he made conversation with almost everyone he saw. He couldn't help but feel relieved by the fact that everyone he spoke to happened to be fellow nations of his, so he wouldn't have to go through the stress of meeting anyone new. Everything seemed to be going great for France so far, his false mask of glee fooling everyone who interacted with him. Even nations who were known for being able to practically read the minds of others were unable to detect the storm of anxiety that brewed in the depths of his sapphire eyes.

Then, he noticed a display of food. Though, he couldn't just disregard these aliments as something any armature could provide. He could tell by the sent that radiated off of the food, and by it's elegant appearance that a professional had taken a large portion of their day to cook these gastronomes. In a way, he almost envied the work of art before him, which of course was saying something, since France almost never envied the cooking of others! Jealousy aside, the aroma of the food had become so addicting to France that he completely forgot about his strict diet. That was until he was only a few inches away from the display when shame began to prickle at his skin.

Taking a step back, France tried his best to turn his head in the other direction, all in a futile attempt to ignore the temptation. What really wasn't helping with his situation was the fact that the food on the table consisted of flavors he'd been craving; such as sweet and anything that contained high amounts of lard. Others may have found his urge to engorge himself with such high amounts of empty calories a bit revolting, but France couldn't help but find the thought of biting into a pastry coated with powdered sugar, that was also so moist with butter that grease would end up squirting everywhere in his mouth to be a bit savory. Then, France began to absentmindedly eye up the food, his stomach growling with impatience.

At last, the temptation had become too much for him to handle. France started grabbing pastry after pastry, shoving the food down his throat at such haste that he could hardly taste it. He didn't even care if some people started to stare at him as if he was some sort of abomination, he just wanted to eat until the empty space in stomach was beyond full. He mostly just wanted to fill up the emptiness that had become his emotional state, and he knew perfectly well that the only way he could bring himself back to life was by eating.

Before he knew it, the entire table was cleared of any food, and when France glimpsed to decide on what he would eat next, guilt seemed to squeeze his lungs when he realized that there was no food left. In a frenzy, France began to violently look around for a bathroom, feeling as if he was going to vomit at any moment. When he finally spotted one, he began to dash towards it. However, he was sort of slowed due to the heavy weight in his stomach, along his inability to breathe properly from his bout of panic. Then, when he finally did arrive at the bathroom, his path was immediately blocked by a few larger individuals. All of them seeming to smile at him mockingly, as if they knew he was desperate to drain his stomach of what he'd just eaten. France tried to keep his voice from trembling as he pleaded, "Please, just let me use the bathroom."

There smiles grew to a creepy extent. To the point that they could easily put Russia's childish grin to shame. Right after a terrifying mood began to set in, one of them asked, "Aren't you still hungry, France?"

"No! I'm going to throw up!"

The small group laughed at this, their laughter sending chills down France's spin. Tears began to gather up in his eyes as he whimpered, "Please..."

When they continued to laugh at his discomfort, France no longer cared about whether he was in front of every single person he knew or not, he just needed his stomach to feel empty again! Tears rolled down his face as he attempted to cram his fingers down his throat, but he was immediately stopped when someone grabbed both of his hands, and forced them behind his back. Then, as he began to struggle, everyone in the room laughed and hurled insults at him for not being able to escape the grip. At that moment, France actually _preferred_ to be cowering in a corner of some dark cellar, at the mercy of a Russia who decided to consume a bunch of vodka in an attempt to drink his problems away. _Anything_ would've been better than this humiliation.

Then, someone walked up to him with a bunch of junk food that he didn't even know existed in the room, and started to shove it down his throat. France tried to spit it out, but it was to no avail, for his mouth was forced shut before he could even react. As every torturous second passed, the force feeding process repeated itself, making him feel as if he would burst at any moment. Meanwhile, nations continued to taunt him, "Every other nation can eat as much as they want. How come you get fat from only eating a few calories?"

"Look! He's getting fatter by the second! Aren't you just pathetic!?"

"Why don't you just die already!? No one wants your fat ass taking up half the space in the room all of the time!"

Just when France thought that things couldn't become any worse, he heard someone say, "Just face it France, you have no control over anything, and you never will!"

France clamped his eyes shut as he tried to assure himself, _No, I still have control! I can control this!_ Despite his desperate attempt to comfort himself, the words 'no control' continued to repeat themselves in his mind. Eventually, something inside of France snapped as he began to thrash around madly within the grip of whoever was restraining him. Everything around him became a blur as he began to hyperventilate. He didn't even notice when his surroundings changed to that of a dark room with moonlight filtering in through a slim opening of the curtains. All he knew was that someone was restraining his arms and legs, and he needed to escape.

After a few moments of violently squirming around in the hold, France began to grow dizzy from a lack of oxygen, due to breathing so quickly. The grip on his limbs tightened, though it was not to the point of causing any harm. Then he felt someone whisper into his ear, "Shh, everything's going to be okay, honey. You just need to relax."

France ignored their words and continued to struggle. Obviously whoever was restraining him was having a hard time keeping their grip on him, for he heard them suddenly cry out in a louder whisper than before, "Hey, stop that!"

Eventually, France had tired himself out from all of the struggling, and began to sob because of how helpless he was starting to feel. His breathing quickened as fear continued to grip at his heart. The person holding him decided to loosen their grip on him, and lifted one arm up so that they could start stroking France's hair in a soothing fashion. Then, they spoke in a hushed tone, "I understand that you're scared, Francis. But you need to try and take deep breaths. Come on. In. Out. In. Out."

At first, it was difficult for France to focus, but eventually, he found himself following along with the repetitive words. By the time he was breathing at a more reasonable pace, he found himself sobbing into the person's shoulder, being able to turn around and do so now that he was no longer restrained. The person hugged him tightly against their chest. When they spoke again, France found their voice to be quite familiar, "France, sweetie, it was just a dream. Shh, it's okay, you're safe now."

France glanced up to find that the one holding him was no other than America. Relief washed over him when he saw the patient, calm expression his beloved wore. America laid the still trembling nation down, and wrapped a thick blanket around him before pulling him into a tight embrace. When France nuzzled his head into the others chest once more, America spoke with a hum of apology, "Sorry about restraining you earlier, but you were thrashing around, and I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

At this, France gave America a worried look, "I didn't hit you, did I?"

America's cheek still stung from how hard France ended up elbowing him, and knew very well that he was going to wake up the next day with a hideous bruise. Of course, America would never tell France this, but for a nation that looked completely harmless, he could be quite strong at times. After spending a moment to think about the best way to respond to the question, America smiled, and decided to say, "Don't worry about it. You didn't cause any harm."

Upon hearing this response, France decided to remain silent and just snuggle closer to America in an attempt to rid himself of the disgusting feeling that continued to violate his stomach and esophagus. Sure, his stomach didn't feel as if it was about to burst as it had in his dream, but the memory of having food slither down his throat was still fresh in his memories. Eventually, France started to feel fatigued from the comfort of being next to America, and ended up falling asleep. This time, instead of having nightmares, his dreams were peaceful.


End file.
